Through Blue Meadows
by Bazy
Summary: Takes place probably before The Hobbit. Judging a book by it's cover is a mistake indeed, even if the cover is a foul one.


A/N: Well, I've never written a fic like this before. First of all, it takes place during the Hobbit. Secondly, it is void of *hobbits* themselves.  
  
Disclaimer: Save for the place names and the setting, it's all mine. So bug off!  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Feedback: Hmmm.... how about a spoonful of sugar for each review??  
  
Dedicated: To Jade. She had a writing assignment for school and asked me for a plot. So, I tried to write a little summary for a story... but this resulted, instead. Luv ya Wolvie!  
  
Through Blue Meadows  
  
He'd said to meet her in the forest. And, not that she was afraid, but, well, it was a dangerous thing, this! If she left her snug cabin in the darkest hours of the morning, departed to the clearing at that alleged time, and wasn't seen by prying eyes or sensitive ears, then, well, it would be all right. But if by some unhappy chance she was spotted, then seeing him again looked impossible.  
  
And the journey was a long one, discouraging. But if she came across the icy streams and blue meadows of midnight then he'd be there. It almost seemed worth it, and perhaps it was... but for the wargs. And wargs were... terrible. Vicious, demonic wolves shrouded with many a woebegone tale from the weatherworn travelers of the Old Forest Road.  
  
She shivered and pulled the hand-sewn quilt that covered her bed tightly around her thing frame. Her teeth chattered; it was a cold night. She finally stoked her resolve and got dressed. And, pulling a barely used cloak over her shoulders. She unlatched the window and slipped out.  
  
The village was pointed in shadows. The mysterious dark of Greenwood the Great loomed across the fields of unkempt grasses and wild flowers. The humming of bees in the summer, there, was like a rich man's hymn: consistent, productive, and greedy. *He* wasn't like that, not at all. He was so very different from anyone, say, the boys by the fishing creek in Spring. And she supposed that this intrigued her.  
  
She walked through the grassy square straight towards the dirt road skirting a clump of cabins that fringed the village. She acquired a long, thin branch from a woodpile and made it her walking stick. And the dim moonlight saw her trudging through tall and wavy grasses, the rocky hills, the shallow rivers whose smooth pebbles seemed to trap the frost of winter far into early Spring.  
  
A noise jolted her. A faint rustle of new shrubbery, barely perceptible, but there. She glanced impulsively at the half moon, relieved that it wasn't full. There were abundant stories of mysterious disaster under such a sky. But the occasional Elves that wandered through the village would laugh at such superstitions. To them, the full moon was a time of celebration. For Elves have a bond to the stars and the moon, an ancient one; classically symbolic. She had always fancied *him* an Elf. The way his eyes glistened, his slightly pointed ears, his love of starlight...  
  
She traveled maybe an hour and half, and came to the woods. The trees were teeming with life, but there were still winter bare oaks every few paces. It was an unnaturally quiet forest, for early Spring. And though it felt eerie, she reckoned it an advantage lest any wargs dared approach if her guard fell, for whatever reason. Just then, she became aware of a reason: He was standing a few yards away, blending into the birches there. His eyes held cautious green, his fair face was framed by short, mousy hair, and he wore a white tunic and breeches, a quiver of arrows and a bow hung from one shoulder.  
  
She waved and went to him. But he simply smiled sadly at her, turned, and vanished with a soft gust of wind. She gasped and searched the empty air frantically. She felt betrayed. But now she had other matters to worry over: she had to get home before sunrise. And though it was hours away she felt anxious.  
  
So, tossing thoughts to the back of her mind, she hurried towards the forest edge, not entirely sure where it was in her haste, and she eventually lost her way. She found herself a prisoner to foreboding pines. The needles littering the ground muted her footsteps. Defeated, tired, and afraid, she sat on a fallen log and tried to collect her thoughts... without bringing him into them. It wouldn't do to dwell on that. Oh, but she loved the boy even if he couldn't love her back. Bitter tears stung her eyes.  
  
Something moved in the bushes, and she could see its luminous red eyes even before it emerged from the shadows: a wolf. He crept into the tiny gap where she sat, stopped to stare at her, and turned to slowly start through the forest. She followed him. The wolf turned his head to watch her frequently. She didn't feel at all neurotic; rather, she felt it from the animal.  
  
He started a fast trot, and she adjusted. Then he ran, and she kept up, graceful as a deer and twice as tireless. They sprinted through black pines, silver light in thin glades... past livid green trees and into blue meadows. The wolf stretched in the tinted grass and watched her with intensely fiery eyes.  
  
She blinked twice: saw the wavering form of an Elven boy gazing wistfully at the stars, and then the dark furred wolf again.  
  
A warg of legends. 


End file.
